


The Last Refuge of Egoism

by Ceranovis (KiiKitsune)



Category: Professional Wrestling, Ring of Honor, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: Face-Fucking, M/M, Poor Anger Management Skills, Rough Sex, mentions of Kenny Omega and the Young Bucks, sub space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 10:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10005686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KiiKitsune/pseuds/Ceranovis
Summary: Adam knows how to deal with anger. Just maybe not in the healthiest of ways.(Takes place after Honor Rising Feb 26. 2017.)





	

The Briscoes aren’t the first tag team he’s fucked. They’re not even the first pair of brothers he’s fucked. Matt and Nick would probably question his standards if they knew. But hey, they were fucking Omega so they had no room to talk as far as he was concerned. 

“C’mon pretty boy, show me whatchu got.” 

Adam rakes his nails down Mark’s chest to stop himself from smothering the man’s gap-toothed face with the flat hotel pillow. Mark barely flinches, so he does it harder. Again and again, until he’s clawing savage red lines through blue tattoos and the man is thrusting up into him just as viciously. The lube they’d used is sticky on his inner thighs and starting to dry out where it counts, but the harsh burn of friction makes his mind turn to static around the edges and stopping would be a crime. 

Jay gets a fistful of his hair, steadying Adam’s head enough to shove his prick in despite the ragged up and down of Mark’s thrusting. Adam would rather bite it off than suck it, but it’s already so far down his throat he can’t breathe. Jaw stretched wide and choking on it, he’s not even seeing the room anymore. He could be anywhere on earth. Anywhere but goddamn Tokyo.

Slipping between the ebb and flow of his consciousness is easy after that. He doesn’t have to claw anymore to have Mark using him like a glorified cock sleeve, and Jay’s brutal facefucking only needs Adam to sit pretty and open wide. All he has to do is give into the primal emotion bubbling up his spinal cord and lose himself in the fantasy of barbarism. He can be angry here. Scarlet blood slips through his fingers and washes away, made inconsequential by the vulgarity of it all. 

At some point the brothers rag-doll him down onto his back, neck bent over the edge and thighs over Mark’s arms. Upside down and face hidden by Jay’s thighs, he might as well not even be there. Perhaps he should feel disgusted at his own obscenity, used and debauched by a couple of hicks. But no, it’s as if it’s happening to another body and the knowledge of it can’t touch him. Nothing can touch him. Not the Briscoes. Not the fans. 

Not even Kenny goddamn Omega.


End file.
